Turbulent Days
by H. Mauvecloud
Summary: Ch 4! Hakkai’s tragic past. Gonou took macabre revenge on Kanan’s death by killing his own clan head, unknowing that both he and Big Boss had been played for fools by a treacherous character, none other than the modern personification of… Chin Ii So
1. Living Dangerously

Disclaimer: Characters of Gensoumaden Saiyuki belong to Minekura Kazuya.

Turbulent Days: Chapter 1: Living Dangerously 

He nodded to a companion crouching at the other side of the entrance to the seedy building. They had the place surrounded tightly. He raised a hand, as if to sweep his bleached bangs away from his brow, and gave the signal. His companion spoke into the gadget clipped on the collar of his windbreaker. The raid had begun. They rushed into the gambling shop.

All at once there was chaos.

"Sanzo… the Houtou bastards…" an astonished shriek of recognition rang through the place. "Call the boss! They are raiding us!"

Mahjong tables were smashed, tiles and cards scattered violently as blows were exchanged between Sanzo's men and the patrons. A spray of blood followed a flash of steel. Screams were heard from terrified women. As he evaded a clumsy strike from a fleshy man, Sanzo wondered if any one of his men had been careless enough to get himself knifed in the guts tonight. Not that he cared if they lived or died, but recruitment had been slow and hard these days, what with the recent crackdown on the triad.

He heard a crunch as his steel-reinforced knuckles connected with his opponent's nose. One down, how many more to go? He heard a stealthy movement behind him even before a pair of brawny arms enveloped his shoulders in a stranglehold. Sanzo's eyes caught the familiar blue and white pattern snaking along the length of the arms. _A Seika-An man._ Probably assigned as a bouncer of that place. Shifting his weight backwards, Sanzo gathered all his strength into an elbow as he attempted to knock the wind out of his unseen opponent. He felt the hold loosen. The tattooed arms went slack.

Sanzo turned agilely to deal a finishing blow to the thug from the rival gang. His knuckledusters were getting caked with flesh and blood. He would have a _bloody_ time cleaning them afterwards. _Well, all part of the job_, he thought as he felt the man's lower jaw crack under his fist. _Maybe I could even get the kid to do the cleaning for me._

_The kid…_ his mind went on a reverie as his body went on autopilot: lashing out here, dodging a blow there, feinting a move here, cracking some bones there.

_Why does he come to my mind at a time like this?_

As far as he remembered, he had never allowed any distraction during working time. For a person like him, it had been an easy thing to do. No attachments, no distractions. He was not impartial to cards, but he only joined the games with his cohorts for amusement, to while time away as they waited, on standby for orders on raids or gang fights or simply accompanying clan bosses to inter-gang negotiations. As for horses and other sports, he already found something more thrilling than simply betting on the outcome of such mundane competitions (the results of which were, most of the times, already known to those like him). He found that risking his life - every time he planned and executed forays into establishments controlled by rival clans - gave him a much higher thrill than the excitement of beating the house at the game of blackjack or scoring the green slot at roulette.

He came back to the present and brushed away a slobbering, scantily clad female. Her lipstick was smudged, her eyeliners running down in sweat of terror. Looking around him, Sanzo decided that the work was almost over for the night. That left one more thing to do.

_You've never liked them either._

He dismissed the rogue thought immediately, the way he had just dismissed the unknown woman who had tried to cling to him in confusion.

_You've never liked them women either. No attachments, no distractions._

But it returned with vengeance, mocking him with his own homemade aphorism, bringing back the memories of the jeers and taunts he had received for not being like the others, not being normal. When normal means visiting whores or taking a mistress among the willing club hostesses (of course not a few have been willing in Sanzo's case). They all wondered about him. Even his underlings. The whispers followed him everywhere he went. _"Is he?" " I don't know." "Never seen him make a move on any of the boys either." _

A distraction that kid had been indeed. _But why him?_

_No, I am not!_ _I am not _that _way! _Sanzo argued with himself as he gave the orders to withdraw. He counted three injured among his dozen men and congratulated himself silently. As his followers headed for the exit, he drew a gun from the pocket of his jacket and aimed it at the man whom he had recognized as the main runner of the place. Like him, the man was also a rising star in the perilous ladder of the triad profession, but after tonight, Sanzo would see to it that he would never shoot birds with rubber bands again.

"You were in the Black Rain, weren't you?" he asked, gesturing with the gun. The other man, already nursing a broken leg, could only crawl backward in fear.

"Answer me!"

"What's the point? You already know!" The injured man somehow found strength in the futility of his situation to answer Sanzo in a highly insolent tone.

A shot rang out, followed by a scream of pain from the man as his left kneecap was demolished by the bullet from Sanzo's gun.

"Do you remember a man called Koumyou? He was there too," Sanzo said softly as he bent close to the man's face. He pressed the muzzle of the gun gently to a cheek, slick with sweat and tears of pain. "Search your memory carefully, my man. Else my fingers might slip. That would be a pity, wouldn't it?"

"There were several thousands there - the biggest gang fight of the decade," the man said, desperately trying to stall for more time. His eyes flickered towards the main entrance. Reinforcement should be arriving soon. 

Sanzo followed his gaze, and it seemed, his thoughts as well. "They are not coming, Mr. Mu. Your small-time branch boss had been liquidated one hour ago. Now, be good and _try_ to remember. True, there were many men there, but I happen to know the few who were closest to this man when died. You are one of the few men, and I want to know what exactly happened there."

Twenty minutes later, the twelve men huddling outside the gambling shop to wait for their leader heard a second gunshot. This time no scream followed. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Okay, I play too much FPS games and I watch too much triad movies. On the other hand, I might also be the same no-lifer who plays too much Solitaire and reads too many romance novels.   
It's just that I have always wanted to put a certain character into the shoes of a small-time, but aspiring member of the triad, so this fic came to be.   
The same way I have always wanted to portray the other two characters as your normal, loving couple bickering about their share of household chores (yes, Gojyo and Hakkai, in next chapter!), never realizing how happy they have been until disaster (yup, that spells b-l-o-n-d-i-e) crashes into their lives.


	2. Domestic Bliss

Disclaimer: Characters of Gensoumaden Saiyuki belong to Minekura Kazuya.

Many thanks to those who reviewed: m{_}m , thanks to those who read the previous chapter too.

**Turbulent Days: Chapter 2: Domestic Bliss**

In the living room of a plebeian apartment located in another part of the city island, a lanky man was cursing and grumbling as he tried to iron a piece of white long apparel and enjoy a smoke at the same time.  _Damn him! Why does he have to work extra hours tonight? _ And it was on laundry night too.  And laundry night was also Friday night, which was the ironing man's favorite night out - to the grand foray of cards, mahjong tiles, wine and women.

The cursing intensified when he realized that some of the ashes from his cigarette end had fallen onto the spotless attire.  He brushed them away hastily, and was relieved to see that no grayish stain of the soot had set on the garment.  _He will _kill_ me if he sees even a fly's crap on his uniform._ He breathed a sigh of irritation as the familiar sounds of keys rattling against keys came from the direction of the door.  Not that he would be the one to hear that sound more often than his flat-mate.

"I'm home, Gojyo," a bespectacled man with a gentle voice said as he took off his shoes and placed them carefully on the rack beside the door.  He frowned as he noticed a pair of mud-caked work boots resting precariously on the top of the rack.

"Didn't I tell you to clean your boots before coming home from work, Gojyo?" the gentle voice now contained an irritated edge to it.

The man called Gojyo rolled his eyes in exasperation as he retied his ponytail.  He winced when he espied from a few errant strands that the last highlight job had gone bad.  Some of the red dyed strands were turning into an unappetizing green.  _Better cut them all off_, he thought.  The new consultant head for the current construction project was a stickler for formalities or what the asshole termed "proper image presentation".  Not that the engineer's university degree helped much when it comes to real technical expertise, which is the domain of crew bosses like Gojyo.

"Okay, I'll remember that next time, Hakkai," he said placatingly as the other man stared at him, then at the ironing board.

"The clothes, Gojyo," Hakkai pointed to the iron sitting on _his_ uniform.

"Ah, sorry," Gojyo intoned in mock-solemn voice and turned off the iron.  Then he broke into the tirade he had been practicing for the last two hours:  "Who ran back to the restaurant when it was his turn to do the laundry, huh? And left a message on the refrigerator telling, no, ordering me to wash, dry, hang and iron? It's Friday night, for God's sake!"

"Look, the night-shift cook called in sick, okay?  The boss asked me to help, and I couldn't say no, right?  Not to such a considerate employer."  Adjusting his glasses in a tired gesture, Hakkai walked towards his friend and took the iron from him.

"It's okay, I'm almost done anyway," Gojyo said hastily, but Hakkai's grip was determined.  Gojyo let go of the iron, almost feeling ashamed of himself.  _Here he is, tired from a whole evening's work, and you force him to do the ironing?  How many washings and ironings has he done for you, my friend?  And how many have you done for him?_  He knew the answer to those questions: Hakkai: countless, Gojyo: 1/2 (counting tonight).

"You can still have your few hours of fun, if you hurry."  Gojyo flinched imperceptibly at the warmth of the words that could hardly mask the cold beneath the voice.

He knew of only one way to dispel the coldness from the other man's heart.

      Flirting.

      "You know, you can never say 'no' to your boss at the restaurant, huh?  Yaone, is that her name? A pretty dame, isn't she?" he began by standing very close behind Hakkai, who was applying starch onto the uniform and seemed to be ignoring his efforts. 

      "You forgot the starch, Gojyo," Hakkai reprimanded him, almost with spite.  Then, he whirled around suddenly.  Gojyo was amazed at how that dreamy gaze of Hakkai's eyes never failed to make his legs go jelly - no matter how many times he tried to brace himself against it.

      "Is somebody having a fit of jealousy here?" Hakkai asked flippantly.  Gojyo favored him with a lop-sided smile.  Throwing both arms around Hakkai's waist, he feigned a look of injured pride: "Who, me?"

      Hakkai reached backward to flick off the switch of the iron before encircling the other man's neck with both hands.

      "Now who's going to do the ironing, huh?" Gojyo teased him at the end of a long kiss.

      "Tomorrow is _your_ off-day.  At least, the later part of it."

      "Ah, yes.  Cooks never have weekends off."

      "Only brutish construction crew bosses do."

      "Let this brute show you what he intends to do to you."

On the bed they shared (whenever they felt like it, which was often), all signs of fatigue disappeared from Hakkai as his lover nibbled at an earlobe.  By the time he was naked under Gojyo's ministrations, the smells and sounds from the infernal kitchen he worked in had retreated far, far in the back of his mind.  Then abruptly, the caresses ceased.  Still in a straddling position, Gojyo looked up and loosened his shoulder length hair, all the while holding Hakkai enthralled with a sensual hypnotic gaze.

      "Don't stop. Please." 

Gojyo smiled as he heard the moan from the beautiful creature beneath him.  Then he decided to be merciful and took the begging lips in a fierce kiss.  He could feel nails digging onto his back, and wondered if Hakkai could sense the smug smile in his kiss.  _He must have really missed me during the last twenty-four hours._

Outside the apartment, the sound of an impending rainstorm reverberated.  An empty threat, followed by the gentle patter of rain against the window.

      "The rain has started," Hakkai panted, clutching his lover's badly highlighted hair.

      "It's going to go on for a long time," Gojyo answered as he moved southwards, tracing the ornate red and green dragon dancing on Hakkai's torso.  Gojyo knew every twist and turn of the creature's serpentine body as intimately as he knew his friend's tastes and limits (and more).  It was beautiful, but the tattoo also carried painful memories with it, never mind that it must have also taken a lot of pluck to subject that much skin to the needle in the first place.  However, pain, too, was far from Hakkai's mind as Gojyo's hair swept along his body, moving in a languid dance towards the center of his being.

      Later on, he caressed the silky hair of his exhausted lover and noted the red-turning-into-green strands with amusement.  Hakkai would recall that precise moment every time he tried to remember the last uncomplicated night of his life with Gojyo.

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Coming soon:

Turbulent Days: Chapter 3: Whirlwind

In his despair in face of betrayal, after the raid Sanzo got angry, got drunk and lost his… urm… cherry. Who is the (un)lucky boy who keeps on claiming that he had known Sanzo for eons, in many lifetimes? What is Sanzo's connection to Hakkai?

Annoying Notes:

Was that lemon? I guess most old-timers would call it citrus.  The last line was stolen from Jacquelline Bisset in her novel, The Naked Heart. I feel that I needed to write it, to portray the "domestic bliss" crap Gojyo and Hakkai were enjoying up to the moment old blondie darkened the door to their apartment, which would be soon, too soon indeed.  As they say, when you're in love, time is never enough.  Ah yes, I also wanted to drop a not-so-subtle hint on Hakkai's past.

On hair/eyes color: Since the triad phenomenon (or plague, as most would see it) is a predominantly Asian thing, it seems very hard to give them _natural_ blond or red hair, so I settled for dye/bleach mechanism, since most of the triad people (the wanna-bes we see on the reel anyway -_ real-life_ mob bosses are another thing altogether - most of them appear in courts of law looking more like your average mousy clerks or accountants) do not seem to be averse to the occasional coloring jobs.

On names: Does anyone believe even for a moment that those four guys (okay, except for Goku) carry the same names they did 1400 years ago (assuming real-life Tripitaka's timeline: circa AD629-645) throughout their various versions, urm, reincarnations? Of course not.  But if every reincarnation fic authors were to take the liberty of renaming the characters… well, unless the author is _really_ that good, no reader is going to know who is who that easily.


	3. Whirlwind

Disclaimer: Characters of Gensoumaden Saiyuki belong to Minekura Kazuya.

Many thanks to reviewers/lurkers (I know you are out there!)

1/2 Beta-read by: **Greta**

**Turbulent Days: Chapter 3: Whirlwind**

He longed desperately for a drink the moment he stepped out of the ravaged gambling shop, but the non-too-familiar wailing of oncoming sirens changed his mind for him.  Not that he was particularly inclined for another night at a karaoke club with his men (a typical way of celebration for them), which always ended with him being pawed by a lucky hostess while his men pawed other hapless hostesses in return.

      As the driver of their get-up van started the engine, he decided that picking up a six-pack from the convenient store close to his apartment would be a very good idea instead.

      Staring at the raindrops splattering against the window from his place at the shotgun seat, he replayed the words of the late runner of the gambling place in his mind.  Again and again.  Every time he pressed the mental "replay" button, he could only come to the same immutable conclusion.  The person wholly responsible for the murder of his mentor was _he_.  Images of an enigmatic face came with the pronunciation of that conclusion.  A face that looked upon the world through eyes that were constantly nursing a secret amusement.  A face that presented to the world only its enigmatic lop-sided smile and cryptic maxims.  _If what I think is true _is_ true, I need… I have to… have to…_

      He had to get roaring drunk tonight.

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_On this cold rainy night I don't want to go home  
Only to watch you turn away from me  
Staring at the raindrops with a bitter smile instead  
I fail to find the courage  
To tell you what I have to say_

                                           - Steve Wong Ka-keung ( mutilation by H.)

Rain or no rain [1], he had already gone through three cans by the time he walked out of the lift to his seventh floor apartment, a gift he had received to signify his ascendancy from the lowly foot soldier to the rank of Straw Sandal three years ago.  It was his mentor's last personal gift to him.

      He stepped into the familiar darkness, not bothering to turn on the light.  He did not think he could bear sitting in a brightened living room at this moment.  He needed the shadows.  He needed to feel _something_ enveloping him in his misery in face of the bitter truth.  They - he and his mentor - had been _so_ betrayed.  That in itself should not have been earth-shattering news to any 49-ers worth his salt.  Treachery was common in _their_ world.  But to have it coming from the least expected source still devastated Sanzo.

      _What had_ that_ man stood to gain?_

      The illogicalness of the betrayal made it all the more maddening. It was like waking up one morning to find that the sun had forgotten to rise in the east, or that water had started to flow uphill.  It added a troublesome, and dangerous step to his plan of revenge.  He had wanted to kill the guilty party with his own hands all right, but now he would have to look into _that_ man's eyes and asked him: "Why?"  That meant nothing but a close-range assault would fit his plan now.

He drained a last gulp from his fourth can of beer and hurled it viciously against the glass sliding door that opened to the balcony.  He was practically _ripping_ the tab off the fifth can when a timid voice called out to him in the dark:

      "Sanzo? You are back."

      A flash of lightning illuminated the living room.  A small, but definitely masculine hand, reaching for the light switch, froze in mid-air as Sanzo spoke: "Don't."

      Later, had anyone dared to ask, Sanzo would have pleaded temporary insanity for the night's act.  He did not know where the impulse that drove him to that act sprang from - he could have blamed the beer (_Come on, _he would say to himself,_ four cans and you were drunk senseless?_), he could have blamed the state of shock he was in (at the discovery of the identity of the traitor).  But in the end, he could only find one clear reason for his behavior: he must have been out of his mind.

      "Come here," he commanded to the slight figure in the dark.

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He held the smaller form close to him, breathing in the sweet scent of the chestnut-tinted hair, and felt a pair of arms wrapping themselves around his own naked waist.  For the first time in his life, he knew that

                  _ I belong here._

Even if he refused to acknowledge the overflowing wetness in his eyes, he had to admit the _rightness_ of that feeling of belonging.

      The boy had amazed him.

      What he had first thought would be a crude attempt at rape had happened like the most natural thing in the world.  The way the kid had responded to his boorish caresses, his artless kisses.  As if _he_ had expected them from Sanzo.  As if they had always been doing it all this while.  It all felt so right.  Right as rain.

      Sanzo could find no other words for what they had shared,

      _Right as rain._ [2]

      The boy breathed lightly against his chest, murmuring a name that, to Sanzo, seemed both alien and yet familiar at the same time. 

      "What was that?" Sanzo asked as he drew away momentarily to pluck a cigarette from the pack on the nightstand.

      "Oh nothing," came the answer.  A pair of eyes that seemed more golden than light brown looked up at him.  _Does he wear those contacts _all_ the time?_ Sanzo thought curiously as he fumbled for the lighter among the discarded pile of clothes.

      "I forgot that _that_ is not your name this time."

      Somehow Sanzo managed to stay his hand long enough to light the cigarette.  Even in his vexation, he was amused to realize that this was his first post-coital smoke.

      _Yes, and I was probably the last virgin in the River and the Lake _[3]_.  And the fun part is, my first lay is this funny kid who keeps on insisting that…_

      "Why do you always talk that way?" Putting an arm back on the curve of the boy's waist, Sanzo snapped, sounding harsher than he intended to.

      Golden eyes never wavered.  They seemed to shine brighter than ever as their owner intoned:

      "We have always found each other in the end."

      Sanzo rolled his eyes in exasperation.  _Please, not that line again._  The line this strange boy had inflicted on him from the very first night he had brought him to his home, after bumping into him in an incidence Sanzo would rather not recall.

      _It has happened before. Countless times.  Interesting times._

_-_ _ when we fled south from the Northern Barbarians, who had breached the Great Wall_

_-when, led by Ri Jisei, we marched to the Northern Capital in that ill-fated peasant rebellion that hastened the fall of the Ming_

_- when we fought against the red-haired barbarians who brought the poison to  the Middle Kingdom _

_- that fateful Christmas when the Eastern Barbarians took this island city_

_We met, and we parted._

      Yes, all the nonsense the kid had been spouting from the moment they met.  Despite (or maybe because of) the pleasure they had just shared, Sanzo suddenly decided that the unnerving mumbo-jumbo would have to stop.  Now.

      "Oh?" Sanzo replied, turning sideways with a scowl to puff out grayish smoke.  _Damn it, I have to get used to smoking while having another non-smoker around in such a _close_ position.  _"Suppose you tell me, Goku, what was my name the time before this one, hmm?"

      This time the disbelieving sarcasm in his voice succeeded in dampening the sparkle in that annoyingly eager look.  Look that was always hopeful that Sanzo would _remember_.  Annoyingly hopeful.

      The boy called Goku dropped his gaze desolately.  Pulling himself out of Sanzo's one-armed embrace, he plopped petulantly on the edge of the bed, staring down at his own legs, which dangled just above the floor.

      "You still don't believe."

      "Humor me."

      "Kei-bin." [4]

      Goku looked up as a derisive snort escaped Sanzo's lips.

      "Why is it so hard to make you see this time? What went wrong?" he whined. "Didn't anything I told you ring a bell, strike a chord, fire a… a…,"  he struggled for the word, "…resonance?"  Having finished the speech, and seeing its effect (or lack of) on the man's face, Goku went back to staring at the floor.

      _If I remember correctly, you didn't use to be this___ smart with words.  I see that you are improving.  Stupid monkey._

      Sanzo blinked, and shook his head angrily.  First the kid's nonsense, now this spate of totally crazy random thoughts invading his consciousness.  _Pull yourself together!_ And so he summoned the old self he knew so well, that competent, cynical good old Sanzo, leader of gang-fights and organizer of the extortion racket in his part of the city.

      "I was a woman then? So you used to do to me what I just did to you? Or were we _both_ women then?" Sanzo leaned towards the downcast boy.  The hand not holding the cigarette raised Goku's chin roughly.

      Unfazed, the boy took Sanzo's hand in his own.

      "It does not matter."

      Goku bent to kiss the fingers.

      "I'll always find you.  Every lifetime.  We meet, then we part.  That is our curse, and our joy.  And sometimes we get to meet the other two__"

      _Shit.  Somebody should enlarge his vocabulary._  The rest of the boy's words went unheard as Sanzo's temper flew into oblivion. 

      "Oh yes, and I suppose you'll keep on being reincarnated so that you can continue to annoy me.  And I'll keep on being reborn just to fulfill the purpose of your every life…" the tirade halted abruptly as the boy gently placed a finger on his lips.

      Goku shook his head [5] sadly.

      "It's not the same for me."

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When he looked sad, he reminded Sanzo of another person.  The only other person he had picked up from the streets.  The only other person he had allowed into the private shell of his life.  A sad face, of ruined beauty, loomed in his mind.  Sanzo's thought flew to an incident that occurred two years ago.

      He was on one of his "collection rounds" when alarms of an anti-vice raid [6] were raised throughout the massage parlor.  Praying that whoever had planned the raid had overlooked the fire escape, Sanzo flew down the rusty metal stairs, the outraged cries of the "masseurs" and their clients barely covering the thumping of his shoes against the steel steps.  He was relieved to find no one at the end of his frantic descent.

      He had been mistaken.

      A hand clutched his arm.

      Sanzo whirled around just in time to catch the fainting man.  As the dead weight slumped upon him, he could feel the dampness beneath the stranger's coat.  He stared at the maroon spot on his own bare arm.  

      "Hey mister, you okay there?"

      The pale face 

                        _of ruined beauty_

(_How much blood has he lost?_ Sanzo thought as he shook the man.) 

                        _of profound sadness_

looked up at him as its owner regained consciousness, answering Sanzo in a weak whisper:

      "I am all… all right."

      _All right my ass. _ From the corner of an eye, Sanzo espied a figure in a familiar uniform approaching them.  _Fuck. Just what I needed._ A policeman on his beat.  Praying for the second time of the night, Sanzo forced the injured man to his knees and spoke loudly as he patted the man's back: "Are you okay now? You shouldn't have that last drink, damn you!"  His accidental accomplice, as if catching on to the act, braced a hand against the wall and started to retch, loud enough for the law enforcer to hear.

      Sanzo breathed a sigh of relief as the officer walked past them, a patronizing look mixed with disgust on his face.

      He guessed they had the gods to thank for the dim lighting at the back lane.

      They continued the ruse for a few minutes, just to be sure.  When Sanzo decided it was safe enough, he helped the man up.  And not a moment too soon too.  The blood loss took its final toll as the body in his arms went limp.  In the darkness of the deserted lane, a very vexed Sanzo cursed as he was left holding an unconscious stranger.

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[1] My tribute to the Saiyuki fic writer I revere the most: Elizabeth-sama, the author of Rain.

[2] Again, my homage to Elizabeth-sama.  May I say (again) that not a day passes that I do not reread my local copies of her magnum opus, Rain, which is the epitome of the ultimate exercise in that highest of all callings: practical jokes.  

[3] Kong-wu (pinyin: jianghu) - euphemism denoting society, or the world (in general), or the underworld (among triad members).  

[4] Wai-man (pinyin: huimin) – an obviously feminine name. I know.  I simply _love_ to mutilate Chinese characters.  But then, is it honor, or honour, gentlemen?

[5] Goku's limiter: a source of sleepless nights for many a reincarnation fic author.  This author managed to hit upon the solution (a lame one indeed), which will be revealed as the story goes along.  Patience.

[6] Very colorful term in Cantonese: _so wong_, literally, "clear the yellow", "yellow" being the euphemism for the oldest profession in the world.

Coming soon: 

Turbulent Days: Chapter 4: Immolation

Hakkai's tragic past. Gonou took macabre revenge on Kanan's death by killing his own clan head, unknowing that both he and Big Boss had been played for fools by a treacherous character, none other than the modern personification of… Chin Ii Sou!

Annoying Notes:

Glossary - If you are interested:

 (Triad ranking, lowest to highest – Cantonese romanization, English translation, symbolic number)

*Sorry, I can't be bothered to "translate" them to pinyin.  Anyway, any HK movie fans worth his salt should try to _learn_ the tongue (like I did ^_^)*

1. Sei-kau Chai (Ordinary Members, foot soldiers, 49-ers) 49

2. Cho Hai (Straw Sandal) 432

3. Pak Tsz Sin (White Paper Fan) 415

4. Hung Kwan (Red Pole) 426

5. Sin Fung (Vanguard) 438

6. Heung Chu (Incense Master) 438

7. Fu Shan Chu (Deputy Mountain Master) 438

8. Shan Chu (Mountain Master) 489

Stolen from "crime.socialwork.hku.hk"

Note: I ignored the modernized ranking system, which adds a position subordinate to that of 49-ers: Blue Lantern, and basically ignores ranks higher than Red Pole.  You can go to the above site to find out more about the ranking system (if you are interested - in the right direction, I hope).


	4. Immolation Pt 1

Disclaimer: Characters of Gensoumaden Saiyuki belong to Minekura Kazuya.

Beta-read by: **missed-f **(Thank you!)

Turbulent Days: Chapter 4: Immolation Part 1 Two years ago 

"You look so cute in that dress!" Clasping her hands together at her chest, a tall longhaired woman with beautiful eyes cooed at the figure before her.

      "I feel ridiculous, Kanan," the figure in the long-sleeved dress said uneasily.

      "No," Kanan's voice became serious. "Let me correct myself.  You look beautiful."  The look in her eyes had turned from delight to wonder.  Now she led the other person by hand towards the full-length mirror in the room.

      "Now I'm _mortified_," came the protest, which went unheeded as Kanan turned him towards the mirror.

      "Look, Gonou," she said, putting an arm around him as both looked into the mirror.

      A pair of almost identical images stared back at them.  Almost, because where Kanan's hair reached down nearly to her waist, the other's hair barely grazed the collar of his dress.

      "One more thing, love."  She turned towards the dresser to retrieve the last item she needed to complete the makeover.

      "There," she said with a smile of happy satisfaction after fitting the wig on her brother.

      This time Gonou gasped in surprise at the similarity, and then was amazed at himself for being surprised.  Now if he could just lose the broadness of his shoulders, they would be exact copies of each other. That was the way it should be, of course.  They were twins.  He pulled her closer in an affectionate embrace.  Faces that were almost spitting images stared at each other mischievously, then longingly.  Gonou raised a hand to caress the cheek of his living image.

      The doorbell chose to ring at that moment.

      "He's here," he said, nervousness creeping into his expression.

      "I'll get it," Kanan said and drew away almost reluctantly from his hold.

      A man with a predatory aura walked in with cat-like grace.  He gave Kanan a feline smile and a casual greeting:.

      "Hi, Kanan."

      "Hi, Kiyoi [1], how have you been?" Kanan addressed him respectfully. "Gonou's in the bedroom right now.  I think he's getting more nervous by the minute."

      "Stage fright? I hope not."

      "Certainly not, Kiyoi," a voice interrupted them from the door of the bedroom.  The man called Kiyoi looked to that direction.  His exotically slanted eyes widened slightly in surprise.

      "You exceed my expectations, Gonou.  Excellent." Turning back to Kanan, he said: "You did well with the make-up, dear." Pushing her fear and hatred of this man, 

_                    this man and those above him  who hold  our lives in their hands_

deep into the abyss in her mind, she smiled serenely at him, and gave a small curtsey at the praise.    

Without wasting time on further small talk, Kiyoi offered a hand to the other man, "Shall we go now?"

      Gonou checked his left wrist once more, and accepted his leader's proffered hand.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

They walked out of the lift into a silent multi-story indoor car park of the apartment.  To Gonou's surprise, instead of heading towards the rows of cars, Kiyoi turned left to the staircase. 

      "My car is on the floor below," he explained in answer to his subordinate's questioning look as he dipped a hand casually into the pocket of his pants, pressing a button on his cell phone.  Gonou knew better than to ask why they had to take the stairs instead of the lift.  There is no such thing such as too much caution in their line of work. 

      The rude uproar of a commotion greeted them as they opened the door to the next level of car park.

      "How dare you look at my babe that way!" a man was shouting angrily at a group of rough-looking men standing beside a van.  The woman beside him fidgeted uneasily in her barely there top and leather miniskirt.  

      "Who'd want to look at that old whore of yours?" one of the ruffians barked back.

      "First you leered at my girl, now you dare to insult us?" 

      "Looking for a fight, kid?"

      Kiyoi and Gonou did not wait to watch the outcome of the shouting match.  They were in a hurry anyway.  Lowering their eyes to avoid any provocation from either side of the quarrel, both hastened their steps towards Kiyoi's steel-gray Honda.

      Kiyoi started the car with a deceptive show of unhurriedness.  Just before they were to pass by the commotion, he said to Gonou: "Could you help me find the Deliberate CD? I'm sick of Goodbye Ideals already." [2]

      Gonou smiled indulgently as he bent to search for the requested CD.  Kiyoi always had to listen to this particular band's songs before any important job.  In fact, he played their songs so often that even tone-deaf Gonou would have been able to sing some of the songs in his sleep.

      "Perhaps you should get a new deck, one of those that comes with those CD changers," he said as he rummaged through the CD casings.

      "Maybe I should," Kiyoi replied absently as he nodded to several of the men who had earlier committed the trivial sin of gawking at a scantily clad woman.  They stopped their dispute immediately, giving the man and his female companion empty threats as they hurried towards the lift. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The mission was an unqualified success.  Nobody at the wedding feast suspected anything, since the music was too loud for conversation and Gonou acted his part perfectly as the extremely shy and _very quiet_ girlfriend of Kiyoi.  Everyone was too busy chumming around and boasting about their latest exploits as they "washed the tiles" over the provided mahjong tables anyway. (What else do you expect at the wedding banquet of a prominent triad member.)

      When their quarry excused herself from the table and Gonou received the nod from Kiyoi, he counted to five, then stood up slowly and left.  Behind him, he could hear Kiyoi making his excuses for him, followed by raucous laughter from the men.

      It was clean and quick.  The victim, a moll who had displeased someone from the upper echelon by having an affair with a person from a rival clan, had no time to even scream.  Gonou sneaked behind her, clapped a hand to her mouth and plunged the knife under her ribcage.  All within a matter of seconds.  Not a single soul noticed anything amiss as Gonou walked out from the ladies' washroom, wiping his hands fastidiously with an ornate lace handkerchief.  

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"I don't understand one thing though.  Why did we have to get her in the ladies?" Gonou asked as they were on their way home from the banquet.  The deed would not be discovered until the cleaner came next morning to find a suspicious smell coming from a locked cubicle.

      Kiyoi turned towards him briefly, flashing a wolfish grin.

      "Yiu has his kinks.  You know." 

      "I guess so.  Didn't get his nickname for nothing, huh, that Old Man of ours?"

      They both laughed at the reference to Old Man Yiu's sobriquet, awarded during his younger days.  Hundred Eyes Yiu who had more than enough eyes looking out for delectable babes to occupy his bed, and when he tired of them, to service his cronies.

      Kiyoi's smile stayed a few moments longer on his sharp-featured face after their laughter had subsided. Staring at the road from his place behind the wheel, he thought: _Only snag is, friend, the Old Man does not even know about tonight.  All he knows is that I am taking you, or rather, Kanan, out for a date at a brother's wedding. That tonight, Gonou is home alone…_

      "Here we are," Kiyoi said as the car turned the corner into the compound of Gonou's apartment.

      "Oh my God," the other man intoned in a flat voice, dull with shock.  They both stared at the conflagration at the topmost level of the building.  _That's right, Gonou.  Your unit.  Shall I tell you who did it? I will… later._ Feline eyes, unseen by the distracted Gonou, flashed with amusement as the finely manicured fingers wrapped around a pack of cigarettes.

      None of the policemen could stop Gonou from rushing into the building.

      "Too late, Gonou," Kiyoi muttered softly, unheard in the bustle among the law enforcers, who were trying to keep onlookers back from the scene of disaster.  He took in a drag of the cigarette with a self-satisfied smirk on his face, wearing the look of the cat that was approaching an ensnared rat.  _One more step to go after this._

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Coming soon: 

Turbulent Days: Chapter 5: Immolation Part 2

[1] The kanji for Kiyoi is purity (left water radical, right: character for green/blue).  So he is _not_ an Original Character.  In fact, he is more familiarly known by the number 1 throughout the Saiyuki fandom.  Get it?  I took only the first character because cramming all three characters that comprise Chin Ii Sou's name proved to be a formidable task.  I also demurred at giving him the ridiculous-sounding name of Purity (or worse, the Hand of Purity - which is what Chin Ii Sou means in the first place). 

[2] A plug for two of my favorite band's albums.  ^___^


	5. Immolation Pt 2

Disclaimer: Characters of Gensoumaden Saiyuki belong to Minekura Kazuya.

Beta-read by: **missed-f**

**Turbulent Days: Chapter 5: Immolation Part 2**

Gonou stared expressionlessly at the scene before him. His prey was wearing a look of agony. Trussed by a rope looped over the banister of the stairs above him, the hapless man dangled over a raging fire, which flirted ominously with his dangling toes. He had been stripped clean of his clothing.

"Why are you doing this?" he croaked out the question for the umpteenth time as he lifted his legs away from the flame. As he drew in ragged breaths, another question nagged ceaselessly in his mind: _Why is this man still alive? _

Gonou remained silent, training his eyes on the fire, making sure that the blaze was large enough to slowly broil his victim, but not so fierce as to cause the man to suffocate. _That would be too easy on him._ The sickeningly sweet smell of burning flesh filled the vast, luxurious living room as Old Man Yiu's muscles gave up on him and his legs flopped back downwards. Above them, the demolished smoke detector bore silent witness to the macabre sight of a man being slowly broiled alive.

When the stocky, middle-aged man started to cough, Gonou splashed a little water from a bottle, careful not to kill the blaze completely.

"You know, Hundred Eyes Yiu," he broke the silence, insolently addressing the paramount leader of the Douzan-wa [1] clan by a familiar nickname, and watched with perverse pleasure as the man flinched at the insult from a common foot soldier.

"I wonder how long it takes to broil a man thoroughly. From inside to outside. Making sure that every single piece of the innards is perfectly done, while still leaving the outer skin as crisp as possible without becoming too dry," he continued in an eerily cheerful voice as he rekindled the fire to the desired intensity with a bundle of newspaper.

"You are crazy! Completely crazy… aargh!" Yiu's protestation was cut off as a lick of flame tasted his toes. Molten fat dripped onto the fire, causing it to rise higher. Even through the pain, a faint click sounded at the back of his mind. _He is alive because I have been betrayed. And by who? Good old ___, of course. _

Watching Yiu attempt to bend his knees again, Gonou replied in the same cheerful tone he had used earlier: "I used to be a cook before Kiyoi persuaded me to quit and go full-time in this field. 'You've got the potential' he said. So I became a hit man. I am your best. And still am. Maybe that is why you tried to get rid of me, is that it?"

The expression on the older man's face told Gonou everything he needed to know. So Kiyoi had been telling him the truth. Not that he had ever doubted his immediate superior, one of the most prominent Red Pole rank holders of their clan.

Yiu started to laugh bitterly. Despite the hideous pain he had to be suffering from the slow burning, the laughter increased in intensity, until the man was practically howling his head off. Perhaps the realization that everything was lost, or the gruesome agony, had unhinged Yiu's mind.

A slight frown crossed Gonou's face. He did not want this man to die insane, insensible to his pain. He wanted Yiu to go through what Kanan must have suffered in that inferno. No, much more. Because he knew (or hoped) that Kanan had succumbed to the smoke before the first tongue of fire ever touched her body. He wanted the man who had taken his life away from him to die sane, and aware of every single throb of the searing agony.

In reality, Gonou did not have any cause for worry. Old Man Yiu was sane, very sane indeed. In fact, he had never been clearer of the facts in his life than tonight. As much as Gonou thought he had read the older man's thoughts, the truth was, Yiu had seen in _Gonou_'s face that the upstart had obviously not known two important facts. After all, Hundred Eyes Yiu had not climbed to his position in the clan by not having a penetrating and astute mind, which still functioned even under the ghastly torture. 

_He doesn't know that_

- _I_ know_ about him and his so-called sister _

_ - _both_ of us have been played for fools _

_Which one shall I divulge to him with my last breath?_ he thought as his legs gave up and collapsed downwards. 

_Why, none of them. _He would tell his would-be murderer a lie instead. A lie that would vicariously serve as Yiu's ghost to haunt Gonou for the rest of his life. Gritting his teeth, he mustered his remaining energy and spat out the words with all the venom in his heart:

"My men said your sister was a good fuck too. Many times over. Couldn't get enough. Didn't she get it regular from you?"

Yiu watched as a shadow darkened the young man's face, almost imperceptibly. _Oh yes, but it got him where it hurts most. _Satisfied, Hundred Eyes Yiu ended his own life by sinking his teeth onto his own tongue.

He would not have lasted much longer anyway. Within a few minutes, his vital organs would have shut down from the extreme heat, even before reaching the perfect state of being, as described earlier by Gonou, top organization hit man and former cook, "perfectly done".

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Outside the mansion of the late leader of their clan, a group of men bunched together near two cars. One of them, a man with an almost feral beauty, raised a hand in a signal when he espied a single figure walking out of the residence. The rest, apparently used to obeying him, went into the cars quietly.

"Do not interfere," Kiyoi reminded them as he moved towards the figure.

His lips curved into a smile as he marveled at the foolishness of men. How easy to manipulate. How amusing to see a face crumple in tears, or brighten with a smile, all because certain buttons had been pushed. It made them more fun than chess pieces. Old Man Yiu. Cho Gonou. The guards. Even Kanan.

He had planned this for months. Turning the Big Boss against Gonou by planting false evidence that had cast a shadow upon Gonou's loyalty, stirring the old lecher's desire for his sister, and suborning Yiu's closest guards. By whispering the true nature of Gonou's relationship with Kanan into Yiu's ear, Kiyoi had planted the idea into his boss' mind: getting rid of Gonou the traitor would be killing two birds with a stone. Pluck out the thorn and take the flower. 

Only, Kiyoi had hit upon the seemingly implausible subterfuge of dressing Gonou up as a woman to accomplish the bogus assignment, hence tricking Yiu's watching men into believing that it _was_ Kanan who had walked out of the house with Kiyoi, as previously arranged between him and the boss. That had been the most difficult part of the plan. Thanks to the help of the earlier pair (whose gambling debts would be reduced substantially after tonight), he had been able to arrange the needed distraction. Which bought him enough time to get Gonou inside his car before any of the boys had had a chance to take a good look at 'Kanan'. _Well, not that any of them should smell anything fishy in the first place. _

The sight of his car leaving the car park (and the person riding on the shotgun) had given the ruffians the all-clear to proceed to chain-and-padlock the door, pour the lighter fluid, struck the match, and let the merriment begin. And then, after the piece that was Yiu had done his part, it was time to deploy the knight: Gonou. To dispatch the king.

Kiyoi had been certain that the bereaved man would believe every single word of what he had told him this morning. Tonight had proved Kiyoi right. Gonou, having been granted access by Yiu's treacherous guards, had walked right into the Big Boss' sanctuary with impunity. And gone right on to do exactly what Kiyoi had wanted him to - snuffed the life out of Old Man Yiu.

They came face to face.

"I'm sorry, Gonou," Kiyoi said as he pulled out a pistol from his breast pocket. His eyes swung with a slight movement towards the men in the cars.

"I understand. Payment for the killing of a clan head," the other man replied mechanically. To Kiyoi, he looked as if he had aged ten years since the previous night, even though he had not seen Gonou shed a single tear since he walked out of the partially razed building. "Are they the witnesses?"

"Yes," Kiyoi replied softly, cat-like eyes fixed on Gonou's face with intense gaze. Then, leaning close to the other man, he started to speak with minimal lip movement: "Listen: I am the one who is going to dump your 'corpse' after this. You'll find the 'necessities' in your coat pocket when you 'revive', if you do."

"I don't mind if you _really_ do it."

"I _am_ going to. Your luck depends on my aim tonight. Good bye, my friend." Kiyoi gave the other man a final smile, and stepped away.

"Good bye, my _friend_," Gonou whispered and closed his eyes as Kiyoi cocked the safety lever off, and aimed.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Coming soon:

Turbulent Days: Chapter 6: A Meeting of Pasts 

After finding out that Goku does not exist – in theory, Sanzo pays Hakkai a visit, making him an "offer he cannot refuse". Jealous Gojyo commits a masochistic act by inviting Sanzo to dinner. On a balmy Sunday afternoon, Hakkai makes his decision.

[1] Tung san wo - a real-life clan, one of the still-active old triad societies 

Annoying Notes:

Until I wrote this piece, I didn't know that Chin Ii Sou could be this captivating. Unfathomable, treacherous to everyone except himself, yet he kept his promise to Gonou - or was that done with an ulterior motive too? Well, the answer lies in a few chapters ahead. Check out the colored picture of him on the contents page of the 2nd edition of Book 4 - it was this one that goaded me into writing him this way. I didn't want to turn him into Beaver (of Dreamcatcher), so I took the liberties of replacing the toothpicks with cigarettes - one of the four basic food groups (aside from liquor, meat and women ^___^) among those living dangerously.


End file.
